


What Happens in the Woods

by Jade_Masquerade



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-19
Updated: 2018-07-19
Packaged: 2019-06-12 20:22:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,031
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15347967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jade_Masquerade/pseuds/Jade_Masquerade
Summary: Jon loved his family. Truly, he did. There was nothing more he enjoyed more than the precious time he spent with all of them on rare occasion. Well, few things he enjoyed more anyhow, first and foremost amongst those the periods of solitude with his wife he had come to crave.





	What Happens in the Woods

**Author's Note:**

> The backstory here is not really important, but basically Robb and Catelyn survived the Red Wedding, all of the Starks found their way back to Winterfell, everyone knows R+L=J, and Daenerys won the South so Sansa and Jon married to appease her and unite the two kingdoms.

Jon loved his family. Truly, he did. There was nothing more he enjoyed more than the precious time he spent with all of them on rare occasion. Well, few things he enjoyed more anyhow, first and foremost amongst those the periods of solitude with his wife he had come to crave. And despite his affection for his family, this fortnight spent in Winterfell surrounded by them meant he and Sansa had been allowed scant few moments alone. 

Spring had melted most of the winter snows, permitting them to make the journey south to Winterfell from Queenscrown. It had been a beautiful trip, with green grass covering the ground again, the trees beginning to sprout their leaves, and flowers starting to blossom, although Jon could also think of a few things that could have made it far more lovely: namely, if their retinue had stayed home instead of pestering him at every turn if they should take this route or that due to the rivers running high or asking if the strong bursts of wind made Sansa want to ride in one of the wains instead of upon her horse or if their tent had been fitted with impermeable walls that permitted neither sound nor shadow to be exposed to the external world, and he and Sansa had been left to appreciate the surrounding nature on their own in a very, very private setting. 

At least it had been a consolation to see Winterfell nearly restored to its former glory, rebuilt from the destruction the Ironborn and the Bolton men had wrought within its stone walls. In between their formal responsibilities of meeting with Robb’s small council, replying to missives from the northern houses, and visiting the free folk who had settled in winter town, Sansa had spent her days sewing by the fire with her mother, assisting Jeyne with little Eddard, and listening to Bran’s tales from beyond the Wall, while Jon himself had spent time riding to survey the surrounding lands with Robb, sparring in the training yard with Arya, and taking Ghost to cavort with Rickon and Shaggydog, more often than not in the muddy stretches beneath the outer walls and the edges of the godswood, much to Lady Catelyn’s chagrin. 

He was also grateful that Catelyn had been rather kind to him ever since they all returned to Winterfell after the war’s end, and kinder still once the truth of his parentage had been revealed. It did not help, however, that she had hinted at looking forward to the arrival of another babe in the family soon, perhaps a cousin for Eddard, and Jon felt his face go as red as it had been when they’d sat across from Catelyn and her knowing gaze the morning after their wedding feast, though now whether it was due to true embarrassment or mere pent-up frustration he couldn’t be sure. He found it difficult to make any progress on that front when their busy days replete with early mornings and late nights meant either he or Sansa were likely asleep when the other returned to their bedchamber and when neither of them rarely went anywhere unaccompanied.

Jon knew he could attribute his sulkiness to the fact that he was simply not accustomed any longer to life in a crowded, bustling keep. Queenscrown was literally quite isolated, with even their attendants living a good distance away on the shores of the surrounding lake, and while he hoped they would have a full brood and busy household of their own someday, he also hoped to instill in his own children an understanding of rules and respect that clearly most of his siblings lacked. 

The day they’d arrived in Winterfell he’d been thankful for four actual walls and a real bed, and he showed his appreciation of something more than some flimsy canvas finally separating them from the outside world by kissing Sansa, reveling in the sound of her laughter as he hauled her against him, his hands moving to undo the laces of her dress… until Arya burst in unannounced and challenged him to a duel out in the yard. 

He’d smartened up and locked the door after that, even as he remembered that too was likely a futile effort as he knew at least Arya was capable of picking them—he especially regretted teaching her that particular skill long ago. But as he’d suspected, it was to no avail. The next morning, he’d already had Sansa out of her nightrail and down to her smallclothes when Rickon started to knock incessantly until they let him in, wanting Jon and Ghost to accompany him and Shaggy on a walk in the wolfswood, and Sansa had reluctantly bid him to go. 

A day or so later he thought he’d found the perfect opportunity when Sansa had sunk into the bath. He’d all but completely disrobed to slide in with her when some of her handmaidens returned, evidently far too utterly enthusiastic about having her back in Winterfell for the time being, asking if they could bring her more hot water or scented oils or lemon cakes or anything she’d like. Jon would have had to bite his tongue to keep from reprimanding them if he had not been far too busy pretending to be utterly fascinated by the fine details of a painting on the wall to conceal his desire for his wife that would otherwise be plainly on display for all the world to see. 

He still couldn’t decide which had been worse, that moment or the one a few nights after, when he’d had Sansa writhing naked and sighing his name, his tongue between her legs, and Eddard had begun to cry in the chambers one door over, wailing in such a way that he woke up their entire wing of the keep, and that had been the end of that.

And last night, just when he thought he wouldn’t be able to tolerate another day, Sansa had begun reminiscing and reminded him of how this was the very room she’d slept in as a girl, and that had been the final straw and he’d nearly given up for good. 

But today… he had an optimistic feeling about today. The sun shone, the sky gleamed bright blue, and he’d thought of something that would offer them some seclusion, if Sansa would be willing to indulge him. While he’d discovered that Sansa was far removed from the girl she’d been when they’d departed Winterfell for Castle Black and King’s Landing, he knew she still liked to maintain the appearances of a noble lady, and sneaking away to couple midday out in the open did not exactly fit in accordance with that. 

He chanced upon Sansa watching Arya and Rickon’s archery practice in the courtyard, thankful he’d not found her in the company of Lady Catelyn or Jeyne. He would have withered under the perceptive stare of the former and blushed in response to the giggles of the latter. 

“Sansa,” he said, reaching out to take her hand in his and thinking he would never tire of the way she turned to him with a smile or how her eyes lit up when they met his. Running his eyes down her length, he realized she was wearing the completed woolen dress her and Lady Catelyn had been working together to sew over the past week. That was… perhaps unfortunate. “Your dress is lovely, and you look radiant in it.”

Her smile brightened. “Thank you, Jon. That’s very sweet of you to say.” 

He didn’t miss the way Arya and Rickon cringed at her words of affection; this was off to just the kind of start he’d wished. 

“If you’d allow me… there are some… flowers… I came across in the wolfswood while riding that may be of interest to you,” he said, clearing his throat awkwardly, but it did the trick. Arya and Rickon wrinkled their noses, muttered they’d see Jon later for their afternoon training session, and notched fresh arrows onto their bows. 

He led Sansa towards the nearest gate, passing by the godswood on the way. Jon had considered taking Sansa there, but it was not only a place they both associated with their father—or his uncle, rather—he also couldn’t shake the feeling the old gods would be watching, although he knew he had nothing left to fear of that. Besides, Jon had been almost certain he’d heard Bran’s voice amongst the rustling of the red leaves when he’d spent some time sharpening Longclaw there last week, even though he knew full well that at the moment his brother had been in his chambers with Meera Reed, attempting to help an intractable Rickon practice his knowledge of the North’s house sigils and lords. The prospects surrounding that possibility he certainly was afraid of.

“What is the true meaning of this?” Sansa asked, lengthening her stride to fall in step with him. She looked at him with almost a strange kind of concern. “Are there really flowers?” 

“Only if you wish there to be,” he said. He would find some, if need be, but he had something else in mind besides watching Sansa braid poppies into her hair.

“Oh, thank the gods,” she said, releasing a sigh of relief. “Margaret and Ania just brought me a whole bushel this morning to apologize for the incident with the bath, and I don’t think I could tolerate any more if I wish to breathe in our chambers without continuously stifling a sneeze.”

“No flowers then,” he agreed, though he did find Sansa’s delicate, polite sneezes rather adorable. 

“So in that case…” she glanced up at him with a look of eager anticipation that made him grateful they had rounded a curve in the path and slipped out of sight of the castle. 

“I’ve missed you, wife,” he said, pulling Sansa beneath the cover of the forest, into his arms, and away from any distractions or prying eyes. He wasted no time in pressing her up against the nearest tree. 

“Jon,” she gasped before he swallowed the rest of her giggles with a kiss. If he had any lingering reservations of Sansa’s willingness, they were questions no longer with the way she licked into his mouth, her tongue hot and sweet. 

As the kiss deepened and his hands began to reacquaint themselves with her body, he felt the way he had when they had been betrothed at the end of winter just over a year past, when things had shifted between him and Sansa. During their short courtship he had been excited by each new reveal of skin, thrilled by how she permitted his touches to grow bolder, aroused by each little way she began to share herself with him. Now he enjoyed every bit of her he could freely see and feel, the curve of her neck he ran his lips down, her long slender fingers fitting between his, her eyes dark and desirous. 

Jon pressed his hand against her through her clothes. He could feel her warmth even through the layers, and he knew she was wet beneath, with the wanton way she rutted against him. Jon had always thought of Sansa as prim and proper, the very image of her lady mother, but she looked anything but now as she writhed between him and the bark of the tree, her breasts pressing against his chest with each of her quick breaths, one of her hands usually occupied by a feather quill or knitting needles clutching his hair, the other gripping his arse to urge him closer. Discovering this side of her had rather surprised him, how once they acclimated to each other and learned the particulars of one another how little she was like the distant girl he’d known growing up. 

Sansa tugged at his laces and pulled his cock from his breeches. He hissed at the feeling of her hand curling around him and pushed her away after only a few strokes; it had been too long, and he wanted more than to cum in her hand like a green boy. 

He laid down on the ground and started to pull her atop him when Sansa stilled. 

“What are you doing?” she hissed. 

“Sansa, I want you,” he said, thinking it was obvious with the way his cock stood hard and leaking against his belly. He would stop if she wanted, of course, but then he thought having a wank in the woods by himself was even more embarrassing than being caught like this. 

“Get up, or you’re going to look a fright,” she said, tugging at his hand until he sat up and brushing her fingers through his curls to rid him of the small pieces of dead leaves and sticks that clung there. 

His mind conjured images of having her against the tree instead, her legs wrapped around him, though the idea might have merely been induced by the dizzy feeling he experienced as he clambered to his feet again while his blood rushed south. Before he could suggest such, Sansa sank to her knees before him. 

“Sansa, no,” he said, the thought of him taking his wife in such an irreverent way making him flush. It was one thing to couple like this upon their featherbed in Queenscrown, and quite another to perform such an act out here with her knelt on the cold, hard ground. He knew how she didn’t like to dirty her pretty things.

“Don’t be silly, we’re in the wolfswood after all,” she said, grinning up at him, her hair a long, shiny curtain down her back, an invitation his fingers could scarcely resist. He loved her hair. 

And then he was on the ground with her, smoothing his hands down her back, fisting the fabric of her skirt in his hands, hitching the hem up. Her grey hose beneath was easy enough to slip down, and he snapped the thin lacy ties of her smallclothes. 

“Jon!” she squealed with another giggle. He made sure to pocket those before they were left somewhere in the forest and their discovery caused Robb in all his gallantry to send his men out to search for the poor, naked maiden who must be out there lost somewhere in the woods. 

He slipped his hand between her legs and when he slid it away, her sweetness dripped down his fingers, and he licked her from them, groaning at the taste. Sansa shimmied backward til the tip of his cock slid between her wet lips, and he pushed into her. 

The beautiful spring day around them seemingly dissolved, the heat between their bodies erasing any remaining winter chill that lingered in the air. Sansa arched her back, and he bottomed out in her with a deep thrust that pulled a moan from both their throats. 

Jon gripped her hips tighter every time she squeezed her cunt around his length, fucking her faster and harder. He felt a niggling of guilt he wasn’t able to do more to satisfy Sansa this way, not with her skirts and such in the way, but he would make it up to her later, once they were far away, back home in Queenscrown where they could spend hours and days up in their chambers without any interruptions, and he would devote an afternoon to supping on her cunt. 

He found himself glad there was still a lingering bit of winter wind that would swallow all their sighs and groans, nor would anyone be privy to hear the way he growled profanities or how he murmured of how she felt so good and hot and tight around him. They’d make quite the sight for anyone who happened to ride by, he knew, but he didn’t care. _Let them look,_ he thought with a sudden strike of primitive possessiveness. _I’m the only one who can feel._

He wished he could see her face, the way he knew how her eyes fluttered closed while she sought her pleasure, how she caught her bottom lip between her teeth when her peak neared, or the flush that crept up her chest when he said something indecent. Instead he focused on all the other sensations, the sound of how she caught her breath each time he drove into her, the feel of her slickness clasped around his cock, the way her breasts filled his hands and swayed with their motion when he let them travel upward from her hips.

Sansa started to tighten around him and he knew he would not be one for this much longer. He scarcely managed to hold off for Sansa to cry his name and clench around his length before he spilled in her with an obscene grunt. 

He collapsed forward, panting into her hair, hugging her back to his front until his cock softened and slipped from her warmth. 

“Do you suppose we should gather some flowers before we head back, to keep up with the ruse and all?” Sansa asked breathlessly, fixing her tights before she stood. 

He bit his lip at the way his seed seeped down and dampened the fabric on her thighs before she let the hem of her skirt fall back to the ground, her hands attempting to smooth over the wrinkles his had left when he crumpled it in his palms. He adored how she worried about propriety now it light of what they had engaged in only a moment before. 

“I don’t think we’ll be able to avoid suspicions, unfortunately,” he said, his eyes lingering in turns on the marks on her neck, the dirt under her fingernails, and the mess he’d made of her hair. Despite her earlier concerns, he was sure he looked no better; without a doubt anyone who saw them would know what had happened in the woods, but Sansa was so beautiful like this he couldn’t help but not give a care who saw her in such a state either. 

And perhaps that was well and good, Jon thought with a wicked sense of vindication, that maybe, maybe next time the rest of them would think twice before trying their door.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hi on [tumblr!](https://jade-masquerade.tumblr.com/) (And please bear with me while I figure out how to use it like the 20s-something old person I am.)


End file.
